


Hide The Secret

by MissTantabis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Elizabethan, Gore, Historical, Homosexuality, Horror, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Murder, Serial Killers, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: “Richard, canst thou put thy artistic pride away for five seconds and listen to me?!”, demanded Nathanael, “I managed to rid us of our last problem. Dost thou honestly think I canst not do this again? Dozens of glove makers would love to be in our place right now!”“But I don’t want to –!” Richard stopped, face red. He sunk down and buried his face in his hands. “Why do we have to do it again? Last time was different. Edward Russell was a threat… Thou hadst a cause there. But now… This is begging for trouble. I had as lief not do it again. Art thou not scared for thy soul at all? Thou art tempting fate!”After having gifted Queen Elizabeth with a pair of beautiful embroidered gloves, Nathanael and Richard find themselves with the heavy and intriguing order of making eight more pairs for the royal family. While Nathanael sees a chance in this order to make Richard even more popular and beat their competition, Richard is less then happy about the order. After all there is a small, but crucial problem: The gloves gifted towards the Queen were made out of human skin.





	Hide The Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody,  
> for the Creative Writing course I took a year ago, I wrote this piece as my exam test. It is a direct sequel to _Ermine Fur_ , which I had written beforehand. I decided to upload this piece here as well since it is a continuation of the story. Mind you, it is a bit longer then the previous story and even more gory. So if horror is not your favourite genre, you should maybe not read this.  
> For everybody else, who reads this story, I would highly appreciate some decent feedback. Tell me what you liked about the story, what you disliked and where I could improve. Not only does this makes my day to know people engage with my work, but it also helps me to get better as a writer and write more quality high stories for you to enjoy. Kudos are also a sweet gesture to know people liked my work.  
> Yours sincerly,  
> Miss T

Nathanael Lynch sat at the desk of the workshop. He pulled away golden strands from his face, nails scratching against high cheekbones. Brows furrowed in concentration, he moved the needle with secure and trained movements.

Lady Hoppskirch had ordered a pair of nature themed tapestry gloves with a four inch gauntlet. The motif was a deer head, surrounded by flowers. The end of the glove was adorned with otter pelt.

Nathanael made a small knot in the thread and added another green sequin to the deer’s eye. “What do you think?” He presented the half-finished embroidery to his partner. He had auburn curls. Large, blue eyes scanned the work with expertise. Richard turned the gloves over in his hands.

Nodding in approval, he mused: “I’d shade the deer with copper and orange. Maybe a few red and gold sequins for details.” Richard returned the gloves to Nathanael.

He was about to reach for two boxes filled with dozens of sequins when a loud knock came from the door. Richard jumped in his seat. A rain of red diamanté spilled over the table like blood. Richard was pale in the face, eye-lid twitching.

Nathanael sat up straight. “Who’s there?”, he called, without approaching the door. “Name thy issue!”

“Tristram Dale, Master Taylor. I’ve come on order of her royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth.” The voice was commanding. Richard curled his fingers into the fabric of his trouser.

Poor man always lost himself in his fright. Nathanael reached forward and placed his hand on Richard’s. Giving it a soft squeeze, he whispered: “Calm thyself. If thou need’st me, I’ll be right behind thee.” As Richard got up to approach the door, Nathanael walked over to the nearby window to observe and interfere. Just in case.

Before his house, Richard was greeted by a small, round man. The head was almost bald, however his full beard and bushy eyebrows seemed to try and make up for that. One of these eyebrows wandered up at the sight of him.

“I am Master Taylor”, said Richard slowly.

Tristram reached into his black cloak and pulled out a sealed scroll. “Her Majesty was delighted by the gloves, thou hadst gifted her with a few weeks ago. Thy craftsmanship impressed her. All members of her family shall wear such gloves. She gives thee two weeks.” With a wide smile, he thrust the scroll into Richard’s hand. “Thou will find all details of her request in here.”

Richard’s head dropped. “Master Tristram… I no longer have the leather… It was an experiment…” He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Tristram already headed for his horse. Turning around, he explained: “When I talked about this being a request, I was being polite. We can always do this the hard way if you favour.” _He did not say that._ Nathanael’s jaw tensed. He wanted to rush forwards to slap the man, however that would only be counterproductive. Richard was currently losing his nerves!

“Sirs.” Nathanael stepped into the doorway. “Please, why must we argue over this? My friend never meant to offend the Queen. We would feel honoured. Though two weeks won’t be enough. Give us at least four weeks. That is if her Highness values quality over quantity.”

Tristram’s eye-lid twitched. He stared up at Nathanael. His expression was as still as a pond. Stormy eyes locked with black ones. Who would cower first? Finally Tristram said: “Four weeks, but not longer, Mister Lynch. And none of thy tricks.” And he mounted his horse and rode away.

***

“Hast thou lost thy head?!” What made Richard go this mad? Nathanael could not see it. Had he not helped him? Had he not lead Tristram’s suspicion away? So where did the anger come from?

Richard swung his arm as if he wanted to slap somebody. Maybe even Nathanael? The blonde man flinched as dozens of sequins and threads rained down on the floor. Richard’s emotions were as bare as ashed hide. No hair. Just blank skin. “What were you thinking? We cannot do this order.”

“Steady thy hands.” Nathanael tried to catch Richard’s wrists. He held him there. “We can make this work if we concentrate.” Nathanael’s thumbs cupped over the back of Richard’s hand and began to draw circles. The skin on the back of a human hand was soft, and no touch could calm Richard better. “‘tis a dream come true. Thou would’st be a fool to throw this chance away.”

Richard’s hands curled into fists. Muscles jumped underneath the skin. He was avoiding Nathanael’s gaze. “We don’t have the hide!”, Richard hissed through his teeth, “Don’t be so stubborn, you idiot! This is too dangerous, Nat! Moreover” – he read the scroll – “how be we supposed to make eight gloves in four weeks?! We barely finish two pairs per day! And what about the tanning of the leather? This takes a few weeks in its own right!”

“I stand by my word!” Richard threw the scroll on the floor and walked away, crossing his arms. “We cannot do this. Morally, it is corrupt. And technically it is impossible. That’s it!”

Nathanael picked the scroll up. He rolled his eyes. Complains, complains, complains! What was the trouble here? So they would tread some dark territory. Who cared? The nobles weren’t exactly innocent either.

“Richard, canst thou put thy artistic pride away for five seconds and listen to me?!”, demanded Nathanael, “I managed to rid us of our last problem. Dost thou honestly think I canst not do this again? Dozens of glove makers would love to be in our place right now!”

“But I don’t want to –!” Richard stopped, face red. He sunk down and buried his face in his hands. “Why do we have to do it again? Last time was different. Edward Russell was a threat… Thou hadst a cause there. But now… This is begging for trouble. I had as lief not do it again. Art thou not scared for thy soul at all? Thou art tempting fate!”

Poor, scared, little boy. The glove maker knelt down before the man. Breathing a kiss on Richard’s knuckles, Nathanael whispered: “One more wicked act won’t change the fact that I am bound to go to hell. Richard, I promise, thou wilt only have to decorate the gloves. Leave the materials to me.”

***

The first thing Nathanael did was to hire an assistant for a few shillings. Young, homeless boys were always willing to make a bit of money. He should know. He had been there himself.

But getting a boy was the least of his worries. Nathanael needed the hide for the gloves. He could not go into a store and buy the skin there, because no one sold what he was looking for. Besides this would draw unnecessary attention on both him and Richard. And this was the last thing Nathanael wanted.

No, he had to find a way to get the hide himself. Only the softest and smoothest skin would do for the gloves of the royal family. Nathanael already had a vague idea what he was looking for. But that work required planning. And a little bit of assistance. Lucky for him, Nathanael knew just the person to ask.

***

Two hours were all it took to complete the gloves. The deer sprang to vivid life and a wave of glistening fire in gold and red ran over the leather. It was Nathanael’s duty to deliver the gloves to their new owners. Richard did not like interacting with strangers. The only client he felt comfortable with was Lady Hoppskirch.

They were admitted into an elegant living room with deep red curtains and beautifully craved furniture. Lady Hoppskirch was sitting on a dark leather bench in front of a half-finished self-portrait with a brush in her hand. She was tall and strangely alluring with her almond eyes and skin like calf leather. Loose, large gold bracelets jingled against her slim wrists.

“Master Taylor, Mister Lynch!” Lady Hoppskirch placed her brush down. “Come in, come in!” She waved her hands and pulled them into the room. “How wonderful to see you two again. How’s thy trade, Master Taylor?”

Richard turned red in the face. “So far, so good.” He wiggled his fingers and his lips twitched at one corner. “The expense for leather is rising again, canst thou believe that?”

“Is that so?”, called the lady, “I am sorry. Ye are not in debt, are ye?” She looked between them.

Nathanael was rummaging in his woollen bag. “If we would be”, he murmured, “I doubt we could present thou with these.” Nathanael pulled out the finished gloves.

“Oh, Master Taylor, these are marvellous!” Lady Hoppskirch’s eyes widened. Putting them on, she flexed her fingers. The light was caught on the sequins, bathing everything in golden and red dots.

“Thou never fail to impress me.” She counted the price into the glove maker’s hand.

Nathanael’s chest swelled in pride. Lady Hoppskirch was the one person he could always count on. She kept their business alive and made sure Richard got the most out of his work. “Of course he never fails. He’s the best at his work.”

“I am not!”, called Richard as he stored his money away, “I am just…”

“Bullocks, Rich.” Nathanael dropped one of his arms over his friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He tilted his head and flashed his teeth in a brief smile. “Stop being so modest. You are way too good for some false humility. After all even…”

“Nat, stop!” Richard angrily shoved his arm off and took a step aside. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Nathanael blinked in surprise. Usually Richard never pushed him away. And the way he spoke now… It was almost bitter. How could he react like that?!

Nathanael threw his arms up and called: “You have every reason to be proud, Rich!”

Richard responded: “This is nothing to be proud off.”

A familiar gaze of amber fire bore itself into his neck. Nathanael looked at Lady Hoppskirch and rose a brow. They turned their attention to Richard. Nathanael could tell this would not go how he had planned. Richard would try to take a shortcut. Why did he do that? It was stupid!

 _Really? This is what you are going to go with? This?_ Richard’s excuse made a peasant liar sound like Christopher Marlowe! Nathanael rolled his eyes and with sagged shoulders let Richard speak.

“Lady Hoppskirch, I am so sorry for my apprentice’s behaviour. This is… a… private matter.” He shot Nathanael a glare. “I don’t know what come over Nathanael… Won’t happen again. I promise.”

Nathanael clapped his hands. _Congratulations, Taylor. Thy wit reached a new level of dryness._ “Nothing came over me, Rich. You are just being as clear as murky water.” He cocked his head. “Surely my ambitions will only further your own good. Lady Hoppskirch can certainly agree with that.” Nathanael nodded towards her. “Would you not, my Lady? Is that not what good friends shall do, according to thee?”

Lady Hoppskirch’s brows shot upwards in union. She took a cautious step back. “Ye two hardly ever argue”, she responded, “Has trouble arrived on Olympus? Did Ganymede anger Jupiter? Speak, y’all! ‘tis not the fond friendship I recall.”

Richard dropped his head. He did not pull back this time. Nathanael laid his arm around his shoulder and caressed his sleeves. The blonde man whispered: “I never meant to anger my sweet friend.” He kissed Richard on the cheek.

“I do apologise, Lady Hoppskirch.” Richard looked at Nathanael, face reddish for a few seconds. “My mind was occupied with other things. Our trade keeps us… I did not mean to appear stressful…”

Lady Hoppskirch waved a hand. “Doth not apologise, Master Taylor”, she proclaimed, “Thy trade is difficult. I fully understand that.”

Nathanael kept playing with Richard’s locks as he asked: “Tell us, Lady Hoppskirch. How do nobles fair these days? Art there any troubles in thy own paradise?”

Nathanael could feel Richard tense besides him. “Nat?”, he asked in alarm. That man saw right through him. Of course! Being an apprentice for almost seven years made you know your master in a very intimate way. And vice versa.

Lady Hoppskirch rose her brows. They were as narrow as spliced leather. She asked: “There is one family. Why are you so curious about that?” Her amber eyes stared into his. The storm intensified and Nathanael slowly smiled.

“Call it a personal issue, Lady Hoppskirch.”

***

The next few weeks were dictated by a strange routine. Nathanael disappeared into the night and miraculously presented a hide the next morning. After it was freed of hairs, sliced and tanned in animal fat, he would dry it outside in the sun, before he presented it to Richard.

They worked day and night. The boy tanned each skin, no question asked. Richard sat in the costumer room on his working bench and sewed gloves together. Nathanael supervised it all, taking notes of each process and improve it up to perfection.

The pairs began to pile themselves upon the desk throughout the week. One, two, three… Each one was beautiful and done so very fast! If they kept this speed up, they would be done just in time for when Tristram came back to check on the order.

Six pairs were done. Nathanael walked out into the yard to get the next skin. As he began to pluck it off its frame, an odd, reeking smell filled his nostrils. On a pole in a street near his house stuck a rotting chunk of meat, which had the vague resemblance of a human arm.

The arm was hanging from a hook at the top of the pole. There were dark patches on the rotting flesh, the fingers stiff and twisted. Flies buzzed. Dried blood stuck on the wrist, forming a dark brown bracelet around it.

The scent stabbed Nathanael in his nostrils and made his eyes tear. He felt the strong impulse to vomit into the nearest bucket. Thunder rolled across the storm of his eyes. This could only mean trouble. But Nathanael restrained himself. Now was not the time for this. Staring at the chunk in defiance, Nathanael grabbed the leather, pulled it off and rushed back into the workshop.

Even though the smell was gone, Nathanael’s entire body rebelled. The stomach clenched madly, and his breath fought its way up his throat. His heart hurt as it got faster and faster. Sometimes it got so bad Nathanael feared he would fall.

They couldn’t have found out! They just couldn’t. It was a sheer impossibility. London was full of debauchery, treachery and lies. A web, where even the most determined men got lost. The guards had all their hands full. A few more bodies on the street would not make the difference.

In the shop he found Richard staring at a sheet of paper on his table, muttering frantic words. His nails looked like they had been chewed raw. “Richard?” Nathanael dropped the skin on the table.

“Read this!” Richard shoved the newspaper towards him. Nathanael cautiously leaned forwards. The report was about the murder of Master Coffin, the seventh case since a fortnight. Words seemed to crawl themselves into Nathanael’s head, danced before his eyes. _…dismembered…stab in the chest…hand…mutilated…strayed away from God…judgement…_

He dropped the newspaper. _Great, just great!_ As if there were not enough problems already. Nathanael took a deep breath. No, he would not panic! He was above such frights. Only children panicked.

“So, how shallst that disturb us in our work?” Nathanael sounded careless and calculating. This was an unexpected danger for their trade. A danger he would not tolerate.

Richard did not seem to agree with him. “How shallst…?”, he repeated and shook his head, “Nathanael, have you lost your head completely?!”

“I have never seen things clearer.” Nathanael picked up the newspaper and thrust it into the fireplace. As the flames consumed that troublesome report, he remarked: “And you should agree.”

“I can never agree with such a notion!”, shouted Richard. He jabbed his finger at him. “In fact I should have never agreed to it in the first place. It is sin, Nat! Sin and madness!”

Now Nathanael was the villain all of a sudden? What had he done wrong?! Hadn’t he saved him from Tristram? Did Richard not know what happened if they failed? Besides, were they not making progress? So why was he now accused of a crime?

“I’ve made no mistake”, Nathanael stated and took an aggressive step forwards, “Are we not going to thrive thanks to me? How darest thou be this ungrateful?”

“Don’t you dare to say I am ungrateful!” Richard stared at the hide. He then seized it with his hands and flung it on the ground. “Damn that wretched thing. It has poisoned thy mind.” He jumped upon it as if he could tear it to pieces under his boots.

“Stop! Thou wilst ruin it! You brain-sickly patch!” It happened too fast. Nathanael’s hand shot through the air and collided with Richard’s cheek. The sound echoed through the room, worse then any accusation they had thrown at each other.

Richard stared at him. His fingers had struck so hard, there were red marks on his cheek. The sight made Nathanael gasp. _“I did not mean to do that. I am sorry!”_ The words were on his lips, but no sound came out.

Richard barely rose his voice yet Nathanael heard every word with the intensity of the acid that tanned their leather. It hurt just as much. “What hath gotten into thee? Thou hast the face of my friend, my love, but thy eyes art those of a stranger.”

Thou. The word tasted horrible. Like a ball made out of the hair, they ripped off their hides. It wanted to choke him. How long had it been since Richard had said thou to him? Nathanael could not remember.

Nathanael had always assumed that once they had confessed what they felt for each other they were as inseparable as Jupiter and Ganymede. As the shepherd, that invited the other one to be his love. You had been the one word that stood for all of this. You and all the other whispered nothings, that were softer then any horse, calf or lamb hide. And now you was gone.

“I...I...I...”, Nathanael stammered, feeling like a helpless child. The patch was he, not Richard.

Richard fell silent. His shoulders hunched, and he dropped his head. Suddenly his blue eyes widened, and he stared at something behind Nathanael. The blonde man spun around.

At the door stood the boy. Pale face, rigid position and terror in the flesh. The apprentice positively jumped at the looks upon him. He turned around to run. _Oh no, you are not going to do this!_ Lightning crackled across the storm in Nathanael’s eyes, and he sprinted after him. That boy would ruin everything! Absolutely everything! Had he not learned? Don’t ask questions and don’t stay near the costumer area.

The backdoor of the workshop slammed open, and two figures raced out. A small, lousy street rat of a boy, followed by a swirl of golden hair and black leather. Muddy water was shaken by their steps. Drops landed on Nathanael’s face and in his hair.

‘swounds! Just one mistake. If that boy managed to breath word out to the right people, they were doomed. They would be the next rotting flesh, decorating a pole in the streets of London!

Nathanael went after the boy, zigzagging around people and stands. The apprentice dodged underneath most booths and hopped over barrels. Nathanael stayed close. He had all the same tricks up his sleeve. Maybe even a few more. Two different generations of street rats. One had already saved itself from the sewer. The other one was still stuck in it.

At the corner to the main street, Nathanael managed to get a hold of him. Both slammed into the nearest wall. Stones bit into his back. Nathanael wrapped his arms around the apprentice, who was kicking around. “No!”, screamed the boy, “Let me go! Let me go!” The shouts were quickly muffled as Nathanael placed his hand on his mouth.

“Hold’st thy tongue, dog!”, he hissed into his ear.

Tightening his grip, Nathanael dragged the boy into an alley. That little bastard hit him on his forehead and shoulders, but he did not let go. In the protective darkness of the alley, Nathanael let go of the boy’s mouth, but his fingers hold tight onto his wrist. That child was staring at him, eyes wide in fright and anger.

“Thou were using human skin for the gloves!”, yelled the boy at him, “Thou murdered the Coffins! Thou hast something with Master Taylor. Sodomite! Sodomite! Murderer!”

The blonde man gave the boy an angry shake. “Watchest thy mouth”, he growled, “Don’t make this harder then it has to be.” The storm was alive as he stared down upon the boy. “Thou knowest too much, child. Thy apprenticeship is over.”

The knife was in Nathanael’s hand, and he jumped at the boy, ready to bury the weapon into him. However, before he could finish the death blow, his own knife was met by a smaller knife from the boy.

“Leave me be!”, demanded the boy, “Or I’ll make thee lose thy family jewels!” Nathanael snorted. Classical threat. One could scare cowards with this but not him.

Nathanael sneered: “Then I hope you have a good aim, speck.” They struck ferociously. He had to hand it to the boy. He knew how to fight. Bad luck for him, that Nathanael had almost twice the amount of experience up his back.

The knives hit each other again and again. A net of silver steel wove itself around them. Sweat glimmered on his forehead. Nathanael could hear the boy pant. They spun around each other, sometimes getting so close that this brat tried to grab his hair and pull. However whenever he did that, he cut his fingers.

Nathanael could already feel the first cuts on his arms. _Come on, Nat! Finish him off!_ As he turned, that wretched boy suddenly managed to dig his filthy blade into his leg. Nathanael howled and blood drenched his trouser.

Throwing himself forwards, Nathanael seized him by his shoulders. They hit the ground. Squeezing him underneath his weight, Nathanael stabbed him into the shoulders and neck again and again. He did not stop until the body became limb.

_***_

The hide dropped onto the edge of the bucket. Nathanael stared at the small skin. Smears of blood stuck to the fabric. His eyes swam in tears. His stomach turned. His legs threatened to give in. His mind spun, thoughts chasing each other too fast. By God, what had he done? That was a child! He had stabbed a little boy to death. His hands and arms were still sticky from the blood. But that was not even the worst. He had proceeded to pull off this poor thing’s skin. Nathanael let out a dreadful howl. _Damn me to hell!_

Upon the sound, Richard rushed into the room. “Nathanael!”, he called, “What happened? Why art thou crying?” He hurried over and wrapped his arms around him. Nathanael wanted to push him away. He should not hug him, a murderer. “Where is…” The skin in the bucket seemed to hypnotically draw Richard’s look upon it. “The boy?”

“I am damned, Richard, damned!!!!”, howled Nathanael, and his hands clawed into his hair, “You were right! You were right! That was a child! Mercy heavens, that was a child! I… I….” He broke down in another helpless cry and buried himself in Richard’s shoulder.

“Hush, my love”, whispered Richard as he gently rocked Nathanael from side to side, “If there is a god, he will be right and he will be just. He’ll understand… Hush, hush.” His fingers ran through Nathanael’s golden curls, soothing every silky strand.

Nathanael was shaking. His chest heaved, and he stammered: “I’m so sorry. I should have never forced thee into this. I just tried to do what was best for you. But I failed… Thou must hate me. And I can’t fault you for it.”

He stared at the gory hide. All this work, all this murder for nothing more than a pair of gloves. Nathanael growled: “I want to burn it. Burn them all!” He was about to jump to his feet, but Richard held him back and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“Bullocks, Nathanael”, called Richard, “That would be an unnecessary loss.” He kept combing him. “We have to finish what we started. Afterwards we will never do it again. Now dry your eyes. I do not hate you. Come on. Get up.” Richard cupped Nathanael’s cheeks and gave him a gentle kiss on his lips, before he got up.

Nathanael walked over to the hide. Giving it a gentle push, it slipped back into its bath of animal fat. Taking the stick, Nathanael dunked the hide underneath the surface of fat and slowly began the mundane work he had done the last fortnight.

The gloves, Richard made out of this skin, were probably one of his best. Small, silver pearls for the wool of a lamb, which stood on a meadow of green platelets, surrounded by yellow marigold drops. This motif was Nathanael’s favourite.

**Author's Note:**

> For everybody, who reads this story, I would highly appreciate some decent feedback. Tell me what you liked about the story, what you disliked and where I could improve. Not only does this makes my day to know people engage with my work, but it also helps me to get better as a writer and write more quality high stories for you to enjoy. Kudos are also a sweet gesture to know people liked my work.


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